Rentboy
by Chalupakabra
Summary: Alfred encounters a random hobby of England's, as well as a strange new word. He should never have asked Francis about it. Twoshot, Crackfic, USUK!
1. Part One: THAT WORD

**Title**: Rentboy [Part 1/2]**  
Genre**: Humor/Romance/Major Embarrassment on the Part of Our Dear England**  
Pairing**(s): US/UK**  
Rating**: T**  
Warnings**: Adult themes, Francis, cursing, you can guess the rest...**  
Summary**: Alfred encounters a random hobby of England's, as well as a strange new word. He should never have asked Francis about it.  
**A/N:** This was such a random idea brought on by me randomly thinking about the movie _Wilde_, which, unsurprisingly, was about Oscar Wilde. Oh, you saucy aesthete you. May you rest in peace. This is probably going to be a twoshot, unless something cataclysmic happens.  
******Disclaimer: **I don't own Hetalia... really. As if I could have thought up something so awesome. Psh.

* * *

Alfred didn't like driving in England. The whole country was more oriented towards mass transit, the people drove on the wrong side of the road, and he constantly had to navigate those friggin' roundabouts. Parking also proved improbable – apparently everyone in the damn country was attending a 'football' match (seriously, it was called a soccer game; when would Arthur, and the rest of the world, grasp that?) at the exact same time he was trying to get to a world meeting. Finally giving up on any pretense of trying to park legally, he whipped into a fire lane and parked his SUV.

Oh, and it was just his luck that there was a policeman not three feet from where he'd parked.

"Alright, you fucking wally, and what do you think _you're _doing?" a familiar – and irritated – voice questioned. Alfred rolled down the driver's side window to find Arthur, decked out in fully bobby regalia, pulling out a book of traffic citations and looking utterly pissed. He was as taken aback by seeing Alfred as Alfred was by seeing him, especially in what he was wearing, but he recovered far quicker.

"I should have known," he growled, scrawling in the citation notebook as an excuse not to look at his former colony. "No respect for rules, not even the ones about where you can park your bloody car…"

Alfred was still flabbergasted.

"Whoa, Artie, what are you wearing? You almost look like a cop!"

Arthur rolled his eyes and tore the citation he'd written up out of his booklet.

"I am a cop," he said. "For today anyway."

"So, wait," Alfred, ever curious, pressed him, "you're just a cop for _today_? What about tomorrow? You gonna be a firefighter?"

"Maybe; it depends," Arthur retorted. "I just try to do the various jobs my people do, you divvy. And do try to use at least a _semblance_ of grammar."

Alfred let himself out of his car so he wouldn't have to crane his neck to look at Arthur. At the sight of the multitude of fast food debris in the floorboard of the younger nation's car, Arthur shook his head, disgusted. Alfred just ignored him and kept asking questions.

"So, you do all sorts of jobs? What are you, seriously bored? I could always loan you this awesome video game me an' Tony were playing the other day. It's totally awe--"

At the mention of America's insulting alien playmate, England groaned and almost slapped the (embarrassingly) taller man upside the head.

"Trust me, doing all sorts of jobs is a great deal more entertaining than any one of your video games could be," he snapped. Alfred looked doubtful.

"I dunno, _Revenge of the Return of the Reckoning of the Beast VI _is pretty entertaining."

England rolled his eyes again, feeling the throb at his temples growing more insistent.

"There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Alfred, than are dreamt of in _Revenge of the Return of the Reckoning of the Beast VI. _I've been more things than your silly video game designers could fathom – a pirate, a lawyer, a bomb squad member, a rentboy--"

Arthur stopped abruptly, as if he'd let something slip that he would've rather died than reveal. Alfred gave him a blank look, and the other man quickly pivoted in place and charged off in the opposite direction of the American, but not before slapping the citation he'd written up on the windshield of Alfred's excessively large car. Where the offense should have been written were simply the words "he's a git".

"Don't be late for the meeting!" the Englishman called over his shoulder, apparently storming off in a huff, though for what reason Alfred had no idea.

"What's a 'rentboy'?" he asked. He got no reply.

* * *

"Hey, um…"

Alfred trailed off, and his brother, who meekly walked at his side down the hallway towards the meeting room, sighed and prompted him.

"I'm Matthew… Canada… remember?"

"Oh, right, Mattie," Alfred said, cheering instantly. "Hey, do ya know what a 'rentboy' is?"

Matthew was blank, but he did take the time to think about it, unlike his brother.

"I don't know…" he murmured, frowning slightly. "Maybe it's a kid who has to go around to all the houses in an apartment complex and collect the rent?"

"I dunno," the American said doubtfully. "That doesn't sound exciting… Don't think that's what Iggy meant…"

"Why don't you ask Francis?" Matthew suggested. "I've heard he knows a lot about… 'exciting' stuff."

Alfred paused for a second – all the time he needed to mull over the idea – and then nodded enthusiastically.

"Hey, you're right, that might be a good idea… um…"

"Matthew… I'm Canada… please remember…"

"Whatever," the American said, waving the other man off with a grin, "it's meeting time, and thusly, it's HERO TIME!"

On the last two words he burst into the meeting room, giving nearly all of the assembled nations heart attacks.

"Aiyah! America, don't do that!"

Matthew sighed and entered in his brother's wake, hoping against hope that this time _someone_ might remember who he was.

* * *

"Hey, Francis!"

France turned to find Alfred rushing up to him at lunch break, which was unnerving to say the least.

"_Bonjour, mon ami_. Do I happen to be wearing a shirt with the McDonald's symbol on it?"

When Alfred didn't grasp the joke right off the bat, Francis just shook his head and idly waved a hand in the air, laughing.

"Never mind, _mon cher_, sometimes you are too dense for your own good. What can I do for you?"

"Oh, right, so I was talking to Iggy earlier, and he said something I didn't understand," the American explained. Francis raised a brow.

"And this is unusual _how_?"

"No, c'mon France!" Alfred whined. "I seriously have a question!"

"Alright, alright," the Frenchman relented. "What's your question?"

"What's a 'rentboy'?"

Francis hadn't been drinking or eating anything, but he still looked like he was choking as he started coughing and laughing hysterically. Alfred began vigorously slapping the man on the back, as if that would help, and Francis _had_ to recover, or risk having his spine broken by the other nation.

"I'm alright, I'm alright! You just caught me off guard…" the Frenchman purred, voice already dripping innuendo even though he was just getting warmed up. "A rentboy? Oh, that Angleterre would use such a saucy term… May I ask what context this was in?"

"I dunno, he was just telling me about jobs he's had in the past, 'cause, y'know, he does random jobs apparently…" Alfred explained, looking bewildered. "Whaddya mean, 'saucy'? What's a 'rentboy'?"

"How to put this as… _concisely_… as possible?" Francis mused, rubbing the bristle of beard on his chin as recalled England's former job. "If I had to completely boil it down, _mon ami_…"

"Yeah?" Alfred prompted, getting impatient. Francis's lips curved into a smirk.

"A 'rentboy' is a male whore."

And suddenly, America's world imploded.

* * *

**A/N: **Ahahahaha, to be continued!

Reviews are love, feel free to share. :D

- C


	2. Part Two: THAT ASS

**A/N:** And after a bit of a wait, here's part two! Yay! There are so many double entendres in this... have fun with them.

**Warning(s):** America being dense, misuse of Sweden, and England having been a little too bibliophilic for his own good.

* * *

"ENGLAAAAND!"

Arthur turned around just in time to be run over head on by Alfred, who'd apparently been charging towards him full tilt and hadn't even bothered to _consider _even the remote _possibility_ that England just _might _turn around after hearing his name screamed at the top of the American's lungs. As it was, they ended up as a pile of limbs and assorted curse words, Alfred nursing a bruised chin while Arthur rubbed the top of his head and winced.

"What," the Englishman hissed, "in the name of _God, _do you want?"

There was a pause and then:

"I forgot," Alfred pronounced, blankly rubbing his chin. Arthur pushed the American off him, utterly pissed and fairly flustered, and busied himself with brushing off his clothes and angrily huffing off.

"Whoa, whoa, wait, Iggy, never mind, I remember!" the American yelled, jumping to his feet and grabbing the pissed Brit before he got too far down the hallway outside the meeting room where Alfred had taken him by surprise. "Don't run off, don't run off!"

"Good Lord, Alfred, you have the attention span of a _gnat_," the man hissed. "Now that you've managed to regain your wits--what little you have of them--why_ were_ you running through the building, screaming my name?"

And suddenly Alfred started bawling.

"Why, England? _Why?!_ If you'd needed money you could've just asked me!"

"What, in the name of _Christ,_ are you talking about?!" Arthur demanded, panicking as he watched the nation who had--at one point--sent the British Empire running home with its tail between its legs sob like a child. "It was just a cold! It's not like I needed money _that_ badly--"

"That's not what I'm talking about!" Alfred insisted with a forceful shake of the head. "That's _so_ low on the list of problems that require heroic solutions!"

"Good to know," England said, tone dripping malice. He shut up when America took him by the shoulders and started shaking him.

"Englaaaand! You don't have to put on the red light!"

"I'm just going to leave now," Arthur deadpanned, removing the other man's hands from his person. "You know, before you further embarrass yourself and me by association."

"I'm the embarrassed one!" the American cut in. "How could you have been a man whore and not told me?!"

England just gave him a _look_, inwardly trying not to burst out laughing and/or blushing at Alfred's eternally awkward phrasing. Then it hit him what exactly America had been trying to get at for the last five, absolutely _useless, _minutes, and he went the colour of a strawberry martini.

"W-WHAT?! I assume Francis had something to do with this!"

"Well, yeah," Alfred replied, his tone and expression implying that it was obvious, which it kinda was (otherwise the American wouldn't have grasped it). "You ran off 'fore I could ask you what a 'rentboy' was and… uh… Mattie… told me to ask Francis. So yeah."

"Don't you 'so yeah' me," England hissed, prodding the taller man's chest with an accusatory finger. "How _dare_ you intrude on my private life to such an extent! That was completely uncalled for!"

"You brought it up," America pointed out, unfazed. "Francis only brought clarity… blinding, _blinding_ clarity…"

"I'm surprised you know the word 'clarity'," England sniped, oh-so-subtly trying to change the topic. America wasn't having it.

"But seriously, England, if you were in a bind you could've just asked me for help! I'm the hero, after all! Besides, even though my economy isn't exactly rockin' right now--"

"Hold on just one minute, you daft sod," Arthur cut in, folding his arms tersely, "you're acting like I was playing gentleman's caller last _week_."

"You weren't?"

"Why do you sound so disappointed?"

"Wait, so when _were_ you handing out lap dances?" Alfred said, side-stepping England's question in favour of his own, which he apparently thought was less incriminating. He still sounded like he'd missed the opportunity of a lifetime and was dearly regretting it.

"Around 1892."

America gave him a dumbfounded look.

"Whoa, you were around in 1892?!"

Arthur sunk his head into his hands to keep from slapping Alfred silly with them.

"You were around in 1892 as well, you idiot," he hissed. "And are you asserting that I'm somehow _over-the-hill_?"

"No, I was saying you were _old,_ but you're right, I remember the 1800s!" Alfred said. "Well, most of them, anyway… I get kind of iffy around 1860…"

"Pony Express…?"

"Oh, right," America said with a grin. "That was awesome. Anyway, why the heck did you need to be a man whore back then? Weren't you in some kind of 'golden age'?"

"Well, it has been said," England griped. "And would you please pick a more acceptable term for the profession?"

"Boy whore?"

"You're hopeless."

"Stop trying to change the subject!" Alfred whined. "The point is: I still could've loaned you some cash!"

"Has it yet occurred to you that I _wasn't_ doing it for the money?" England asked, holding in a laugh as America's face went shockingly blank. He hadn't been around at the exact moment that Francis had revealed the meaning of 'rentboy' to the young nation, but he'd bet the expression he wore then was identical to the one he wore now.

"Wha... Iggy, you mean you're... Swedish?"

Arthur raised one of his massive brows, "Since when was Berwald synonymous with 'gay'?"

"Since when was he _not_?" the American countered. The Briton surrendered the point.

Somewhere in the world Sweden sighed, shook his head, and went back to making furniture.

"So... yeah. Gay, huh?" Alfred mumbled, wondering if he was the only one feeling how suddenly heated the air had become. This had to be a side-effect of Global Warming. He'd have his scientists look into it. Arthur just sighed and rubbed his temples.

"I believe the appropriate term, for a nation that is, is bisexual," he snapped, "and besides which, being a rentboy was more of an... intellectual pursuit..."

Alfred was getting really good at the blank looks.

"If screwing guys makes you smart, Greece should be a Rhodes scholar."

"Greece _is_ a Rhodes scholar. Rhodes is _in_ Greece!"

"Oh, I thought that was in Iowa..."

England turned to the adjacent wall and began beating his head into it. America was still lost.

"Seriously, England; why? I don't buy that you were getting book smart off of blow--"

"Alfred!" England chided. America just grinned, inwardly amused at how embarrassed the smaller man sounded. Arthur grumbled a bit but finally addressed the point Alfred refused to let go.

"I was interested in just one man; a poet, you know, but also a novelist and playwright. At that time he was paying special attention to... um... gentleman callers," he relented. "You might have heard of him. Oscar Wilde?"

America nodded quickly, but then a look of horror bloomed over his features.

"Wait, that guy was gay?!" he exclaimed. "Didn't he visit me once?!"

"Yes, I do believe he did."

"Wow, I feel retroactively violated."

England rolled his eyes and re-crossed his arms, looking impatient and a little offended on Mr. Wilde's behalf. Alfred and his homophobia--it cropped up in the most random places sometimes.

"Yes, whatever, are we done here?"

"Nah, I've got one more question," Alfred said, leaning imperceptibly closer to Arthur with the mischievous gleam in his eye that had only appeared two other times in England's presence—Christmas and April Fool's Day. Some of that random homophobia would've been really great right then, because he was getting pretty close and England was starting to get a little flustered by that, and was having a hard time concealing the fact that the tips of his ears had gone bright red. C'mon, this was getting awkward…

"Y-yes?" he snapped, if only to distract himself as he felt the American's hand come down on his shoulder.

"Do you remember any of your... _moves?"_

England was torn between being shocked, offended, and thoroughly embarrassed. His expression was the unholy love child of all three.

"What do you mean my _mov_--_mmph!"_

Without another word, America jumped him, swallowing whatever outraged snipe England had been about to make. He wished he'd had the presence of mind to visit England in 1892, but as they say, good things come to those who wait. Or, in Alfred's case, those who obliviously miss out on high-quality British ass and only get the chance to claim it over a century later, after they work past their issues with 'the gay'. Still, better late than never.

And Francis watched from the shadows, video recorder in hand, mentally calculating how much Elizabeta would be willing to pay for this particular tape.

* * *

**A/N: **Yay! End of crackfic! This was obscenely fun to write, especially the exchanges between Alfred and Arthur. I think they play off each other well. ;D

Anyway, thanks for reading all the way to the end! Reviews are love!

- C


End file.
